Time In A Bottle: The Final Chapter
by Hephaestus01
Summary: The final installment of the Time In A Bottle storyline. Bruce faces a brand new beginning. A glimpse into the future of the Bat family.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Bruce looked awful. His eyes were hollow and shrouded and the circles under them were even darker than they normally were. It was obviously he hadn't shaved that day and his clothes were rumpled. By all appearances, he looked like a man who was just about to hit rock bottom, if he hadn't hit it already. But Bruce wasn't most men, Clark, thought, and Bruce's rock bottom was probably a little lower than most peoples'.

His hands shoved in his pockets, he sighed. He knew Bruce had heard him enter the room but he had given no indication of such. Clark knew he would have to be the first to speak and he wasn't sure what to say.

The press fallout of Connie's death had been severe. A metaphorical bomb had been dropped on the papers and tabloids and left them scrambling to write sensational stories about tragic events. Ostentatiously, Clark was there to try and get an exclusive for The Planet; in reality, he was going to try to do his best giving comfort to a man who was notorious for spurning it.

Turning towards the incubator, Clark's heart started to hurt. The baby was tiny, much tinier than newborns had a right to be, he thought. She had been moved into a special private room, at Bruce's insistence, and the hospital was under very strict orders about who to let in to see the tiny creature. It was only through a heartfelt conversation with Alfred that Clark had gained entry to the suit.

Swallowing hard, he said a prayer for Bruce's daughter and for Bruce himself. Clark knew Bruce would growl if he knew someone was praying for him, but Clark sincerely did not wish to see his friend in any more pain, and he could imagine nothing more painful at that moment than seeing this child die.

"She's going to be beautiful," Clark said, and he meant it. It was hard to see her at all, with the tubes in her nose and mouth and the little mask covering her sensitive eyes from the blue light above her, but something in her thin face make him think of Bruce. He was hard pressed to define what it was, but he knew with certainty that she was going to be beautiful.

Bruce didn't make any noise or movement and in fact gave no sign that he had heard Clark at all.

Letting out a slow sigh, Clark leaned against the door jam. "Did they say when she can go home?"

"At least six weeks," was his strained reply.

Wincing, Clark almost ran for the door. He had never heard such naked grief in his friend's voice before and hearing it from Bruce, of all people, made his heart lurch and his stomach plummet. This was the man who was a pillar of strength and stalwartness, not a man who wore grief on his face and in his voice.

"Is she…is she healthy?" How to phrase such a delicate question? Clark thought.

Bruce knew just what he was asking. Clark didn't know how to ask if the child would live, it was an uncomfortable question to form, but Bruce knew he would have asked in a much more straight forward manner. Damn Clark and his politeness, he thought bitterly.

"She'll probably live. If she doesn't contract an infection and her digestive system continues to accept the feedings, she'll live."

His voice was both resigned and relieved and Clark suddenly didn't know if Bruce was actually happy his daughter was going to survive. "I'm glad she's going to make it."

Bruce had no response for that. He wasn't sure how he felt about the creature in front of him. He certainly didn't wish her death, but he wasn't glad of her existence either.

Upon hearing no response, Clark sighed again. "Bruce…is there…" He hated himself for asking but asked anyway, "is there anything I can do?"

His head whipped towards Clark so fast it actually made the other man jump. With a snarl, Bruce clenched his fists and images of putting the Kryptonian through a wall flashed in his mind.

"What do you think you could do? How would you like me to answer that, Clark?" Venom dripped from his words and had anyone heard him, they have cowered and run from what was sure to turn into a fight.

Keeping his features carefully neutral, Clark didn't move a muscle. "I just meant…if you want someone hear to watch over her when you can't be…or if you needed extra help in the city…"

That last bit forced action in Bruce's tied muscles. Pulling himself to his full height, he stood menacingly in front of the mild mannered reporter and practically snarled.

"You keep your damn fools of friends out of my city. You aren't welcome here."

His voice was all Bat and Clark swallowed hard against the urge to actually yell at him. Damn the man, but he was infuriating. Ashamed of himself, Clark's shoulders dropped. He had just lost his significant other and been presented with a daughter. He couldn't be held to very high social standards right now, Clark thought.

As if hearing his internal monologue, Bruce growled. "I don't want your pity, Kent. Get out of here."

Bruce sat back down with finality, as if Clark would simply nod and stalk away. Instead, he took a deep breath and slowly brought his hand up to scratch the back of his head. "I'm sorry Bruce. I can't begin to imagine what you're going through right now…"

"No, you can't."

The words were low and dangerous and Clark thought he would have been writhing on the floor, had Bruce been equipped with any Kryptonite.

They were silent for a moment before Clark stirred again. "What's her name?" He wondered why he hadn't thought to ask earlier, but he wasn't sure what to say or do in this situation and he figured he was doing the best he could.

It took a moment for Bruce to answer. "Carly." Giving name to this being made her a person and Bruce didn't want to think of her as a person. He didn't really want to think of her at all. Connie was gone and in her place was this teeny being and he was bitter over the exchange.

Seeing the familiar resentment in Bruce's eyes, Clark frowned. "She's just a baby Bruce."

Fury exploded within him. He had his hands on Clark's lapels before his conscious mind had registered his moving. Slamming Clark up against the wall, he shook him once, for good measure.

"Damn you! I know what she is! I don't want your opinions or feelings or pity! Why are you even here?" With a forceful shove, Bruce stepped back and watched with a very small amount of satisfaction as Clark bounced off the wall.

Righting himself, Clark clenched his own fists. "You look at her like she's the reason Connie's gone!"

"She is the reason! Connie could have had months if it wasn't for that baby!"

He wanted to put his fist through the wall. He wanted to tear his hair out. He wanted to pummel Clark into oblivion. He did none of those things. He just stood there, his fists clenched and his posture ramrod straight, waiting for Clark to give him an excuse to hit him.

"It's not her fault she was born."

The quiet words tore through Bruce's heart and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to look himself away in the solitude of his cave and never come out again.

Blinking a few times, he turned toward the incubator. "I know that. She didn't ask for any of this. She doesn't even know she exists. She has no concept of…anything."

Putting his hand on Bruce's shoulder, Clark squeezed ever so slightly. "I am sorry Connie's not here. But that little girl needs you. She has no one else."

"Please leave, Clark."

The whisper like entreaty made Clark immediately back away. Nodding to Bruce's back, he turned and walked out. It wasn't until he was half way out of the hospital that he realized Bruce had used those words, in that particular tone, because he knew it was the only way to get Clark to leave.

Deciding not to turn back and start another fight, he continued making his way to the parking deck. No one could get Bruce to talk if he didn't want to, least of all Clark.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Dick was too tired to cry or scream or hit something. He hadn't slept in days and although he wanted to lash out, he simply did not have the energy. He had nearly relocated to Gotham when he heard that Connie had died, but Babs and Alfred had convinced him to stay with his family.

So, in order to appease everybody, and therefore nobody, he had been commuting back and forth between Gotham and Bludhaven. Alfred was beside himself, though he would never admit it, and Tim had gone nearly as mute as Cassandra. Bruce had yet to leave the hospital and Clark had called him twice, expressing his concern for Bruce.

Dick wondered when he had become the go-to guy of the Bat family. He had thought that was his wife's job, but she had been more coordinator of street level efforts than soother of emotional wounds, lately. Apparently, he reflected, he had been elected peacemaker.

On this morning, though, he hoped his services would be minimally required. Dressed in a simple black suit, he looked towards his wife. She was dressed as conservatively, in black, as were the children. This was their first encounter with death and he had floundered when trying to explain to them exactly what had happened to Connie. Thank God for Alfred, he thought, who had stepped in and taken charge of that potential powder keg.

The funeral had been postponed a few days so her friends in Boston could make arrangements to be there. Connie had only been gone five days, but her absence had left an ever growing vacuum in the family. Sighing, he helped his wife usher their children down the grand staircase of Wayne Manor.

They had all arrived the previous night, so they would be there the morning of the funeral. Bruce hadn't made an appearance yet and Dick hadn't sought him out. Tim and Cass seemed to have taken to wearing all black even before the funeral and they had been rather taciturn, so he had stayed with his children most of their visit so far.

Alfred, dressed in a somber black suit sans tails, was waiting at the base of the stairs. For the first time in a long time, he actually looked his age.

"The kids are ready, Al. Where's Bruce?"

"He has yet to materialize, Master Richard," Alfred said as took one little hand in each of his. "I believe these little ones would be best served by helping me in the kitchen."

With that, he was gone with the children. Dick didn't particularly care what diversion Alfred had planned, so he didn't ask. Sighing dramatically, he turned to see his wife wheeling towards him from the elevator.

Her smile was thin. "Daddy said he wanted to come and support Bruce. They share grandkids, after all. And Clark and Lois are coming."

Dick groaned and covered his face with his hands. "This is going to be disastrous. Bruce is going to be pissed."

"He has friends," she said, her arms held palms up in a position of grudging acceptance, "what can we do?"

"About what?"

Dick turned to see Tim darken the doorway from the Great Hall. "Has Bruce shown up yet?"

Shaking his head, Dick put his hands in his pockets. "Is he even here? Maybe he's coming from the hospital."

"With all the press?" Tim asked, "Doubtful."

Cass was the last to come down the stairs, in a staid black pants suit and black button down. Saying nothing, she motioned towards the Green Library.

They followed, single file, towards the rarely used room. Dick forgot, sometimes, how many rooms there were in the Manor. They rarely occupied even a third of the great structures' many rooms. Beside the family suites, the kitchen, informal dining room and Bruce's study, most of the house sat empty and quiet.

The Green Library was not green, as its' name suggested. The carpet was a deep burgundy and Dick swore the stone columns along the walls were original with the house, though he knew that to impossible. Books lined the walls on all sides, broken up only by the columns and windows.

There were large tables along one wall and a sitting area with adequate reading light on one side. A small spiral staircase led to the open second story where the more obscure volumes were hidden.

The quartet sat in a group of leather armchairs, all save for Babs, who parked herself nearest her husband. Dick automatically took her hand and gave it a slight squeeze.

Cass reclined and crossed her knees, looking the picture of studied calm. "People will want to come here afterwards. Alfred said so."

"That's the general tradition. A luncheon after the services for close family and friends," Barbara sounded none to happy as she spoke.

"Bruce will not like it."

"Bruce doesn't like much," she retorted.

Shaking her head, Cass started to become frustrated with their lack of understanding. "He needs to be alone. He cannot…host."

"He doesn't have much of a choice. Connie's friends from Boston are coming in and it seems a lot of Bruce's friends are going to be there. People will want to show their support for him by being near him. It doesn't matter that he needs the exact opposite. And we can't very well ask the people that flew here to get back on a plane right after the service." Dick had sat forward in his chair, trying to explain to Cass the necessities of hosting a funeral.

Her scowl deepened. "They must not stay long."

Sighing, Dick gave up. "We can make sure Bruce slips away as quickly as possible. We'll be left to tell stories about a woman we barely knew and answer questions about a child we've never seen. Just relax, Cass, there's nothing we can do about today."

Tim winced at Dick's words. None of them had been to the Gotham General NICU, at Bruce's insistence. He had stated, unequivocally, that he wanted to be alone with the baby. He didn't know how they would explain to their guests that they hadn't even seen the child Connie had left behind.

Before Cass could mount another argument, Alfred appeared in the doorway. "We must be away, young Sirs and Madams."

When they arrived back in the foyer, Bruce was tugging Mary's coat on and explaining to James how long the entire procession would take. Dick couldn't suppress a small smile at seeing his adopted father be so gentle and patient with his children.

With few words said between the odd assemblage of family members, they started towards the limousine sitting in the driveway. Bruce had insisted that Alfred ride with the family instead of acting chauffer, and they all piled into the massive and opulent transportation.

After inserting themselves into the car, they stayed silent, save for the children, as they headed towards the grave site.


End file.
